


nothing you could say could tear me away

by skatingsplits



Series: like birds of a feather (we stick together) [2]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Object Penetration, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Verbal Humiliation, and yet he and i both care deeply about zelda having multiple orgasms, blackwood is not a responsible top, pornscapades?, this has even less of a plot than most of my other escapades, well he's just generally not responsible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 11:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19463455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingsplits/pseuds/skatingsplits
Summary: She's not sure whether it's some twisted sense of spite at her catching him out, how much he enjoys seeing her squirming out of her comfort zone while he stays firmly within his, or because he genuinely just likes seeing her like this. Most likely it's some combination of all three but whatever his reason, Faustus is adamant that he's going to make her keep to the almost-promise she'd made on their wedding night.





	nothing you could say could tear me away

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. It's not completely necessary to read the first part of this series but it would probably be helpful!  
> 2\. I've tried to tag to within an inch of my life but further warning for just general nastiness.  
> 3\. You guys know the drill by now; these are fucked up people getting off on fucked up stuff! Wouldn't recommend emulating this relationship dynamic at home.  
> 4\. I wrote this very quickly! Apologies if that correlates to a dip in quality (we all have a dud sometimes, am I right)

In the last few weeks, Zelda has found that being the wife of the (interim) Anti-Pope has its compensations. Convincing her husband that letting her nephew go free would solidify his position as a fair and just leader had been a definite high point. Crowds in the hallways at the Academy had always parted like the Red Sea for her but now, when she walks through them at his side, it's as though supernatural forces propel students and staff alike to scatter out of their way and it instils Zelda with a feeling of power that makes her pulse jump. Being able to persuade Faustus to change the tone of his sermon or amend a point of his developing doctrine simply by winding her arms around his neck and murmuring suggestively into his ear is beyond intoxicating. However, there is one particularly big drawback.

  
She's not sure whether it's some twisted sense of spite at her catching him out, how much he enjoys seeing her squirming out of her comfort zone while he stays firmly within his, or because he genuinely just likes seeing her like this. Most likely it's some combination of all three but whatever his reason, Faustus is adamant that he's going to make her keep to the almost-promise she'd made on their wedding night. So, as far as the rest of the Church of Night is concerned, the new Lady Blackwood is the epitome of obedience, femininity and docility (the rest of the Spellmans not included; Zelda couldn't take the very probable chance of Hilda slitting Faustus's throat at the first opportunity she got). In full view of the coven, she pours his tea and doesn't speak unless spoken to, a dazzling smile always pasted on her face as she shifts her weight from one high heeled-foot to the other.  
Tonight is no exception. The High Council is meeting to discuss her husband's position as their temporary leader and Zelda had made it crystal clear that if Faustus valued his life, he was going to bring her with him. He hadn't even resisted, too submerged in stress and irritability to put up a fight, so Zelda is currently pouring brandy into ten crystal glasses, trying to keep her breasts from spilling out of Faustus's favourite of her bodices as she does so.

  
They'd had to make a compromise on what the appropriate wardrobe was going to be for the new Lady Blackwood. Lying in bed in the Vatican, Faustus had smugly suggested that she start parading around in silk and satin slips, pinks and creams, puffed sleeves and puffed skirts, only stopping when Zelda very seriously tried to suffocate him with a pillow. She'd reminded him that her clothing had certainly never been a barrier to his passion before but he'd been adamant that her severe collars and buttoned-up blouses weren't going to cut it for His Unholy Eminence's happy little housewife. They'd settled somewhere in between, and Zelda has found herself with a drawer full of exceedingly low-cut, short-skirted black dresses and a new tube of soft pink lipstick that she has to admit works wonders with her skin tone- although it seems telling that when they're in private, he makes her paint her mouth her favoured red colour before she blows him. But they're not in private now, so Zelda's cheeks and lips are rosy pink, her curls have been teased out and fluffed up to within an inch of their lives and she can feel ten pairs of eyes burning holes in her exposed thighs as she bends over the drinks cabinet.

  
The irritating thing about the whole situation is that if she wasn't pretending to be a mindless little idiot, there's no way in all the circles of hell that any of these men would let her within a mile of this meeting. As things are, she's merely a pretty face and dispenser of drinks, the furthest thing imaginable from a threat. And, as things are that's the way that Zelda likes it; she can stand smiling blankly in the corner and take in every single word that would never normally reach her ears, filing it all away for later so that she can tell her husband exactly what his best course of action is.

  
Not that he seems to be needing much help at the moment. As Faustus speaks, banging his cane on the floor for emphasis in the overdramatic fashion he's so fond of, whether they like what he's saying or not, all the other men are hanging on his every word. She's never been much of an optimist but Zelda doesn't think that it's going to take many more of these meetings before the Council concedes to take the qualifier from Faustus's title and appoint him the unambiguous leader of the Churches of Darkness. Particularly if he keeps on saying exactly what she'd advised him to say while they were in bed last night. Even the thought makes her shudder, and the need to squeeze her thighs together under her tight skirt is suddenly overpowering. She catches her husband's eye and he smiles, wide and dangerous, as though he can tell exactly what she's thinking. Which, usually, he can. Her breathing hitches and when Faustus beckons her over, it feels as though her pulse actually skips a beat. Keeping that same bright smile fixed firmly on her face, she obediently patters over to him. What on earth can he want?

  
“Forgive me, gentlemen, but I believe we might have to cut things a little short. My wife seems in need of my... attention" his hand skates over her velvet-clad hip before coming to rest on her backside and a few chuckles echo around the room. “I'm sure nobody could blame me for feeling the need to take care of Zelda here. You know what witches are like; if I don't attend to her, who knows what she might be driven to do. Isn't that right, darling?”

  
Zelda swallows, hating him beyond measure for the way his lecherous gaze has her flushed and wanting. He's toyed with this line before, taunting her in public when he knows that she can't really respond but this is the first time he's been quite this obvious. Without looking, she knows that there are greedy eyes raking over the skin that her new costumes leave bare and it really shouldn't be driving her to the edge of wildness but, as she knows Faustus knows, it is. She can't even shoot him daggers with her eyes; all she can do is respond with her habitual “yes, husband" and keep her face impassively happy as louder, coarser laughter fills the room. When she does dare to take a glance at their visitors, the blatantly obscene appreciation on their faces sends a tingle down her spine that Zelda loathes herself for. She shouldn't be getting off on validation from a bunch of misogynistic old fools, validation for a woman who isn't even really her. But it's fighting a losing battle to try and stop the dreamy satisfaction washing over her, running through her and making it just that little bit easier to keep Lady Blackwood's beaming smile intact. 

  
It's a blessed relief when the room is finally clear, warlocks and cigar smoke both vanished into the ether, and Zelda can drop the act for a moment. She braces herself against the heavy wooden table, sighing as she does so. She's so aroused that her thighs are sticky with it and, usually, she would demand that her husband take her right here, as hard and as fast as possible until she was sated. Usually, she would shed her newly-acquired second skin, kick her heels off, tell Faustus exactly what he's doing wrong and then sink into the sensation of his strong hands on her skin. Today, however, Zelda has found that she might not be quite ready to stop pretending.

  
When she follows Faustus back to their chambers, he's already settled into his armchair and doesn't even acknowledge her when she enters the room which only makes the twinge between Zelda's thighs intensify. Wordlessly perching on the arm of his chair, she trails her fingertips over one shoulder and down his spine, walks them teasingly back up until she can play with the hair at the nape of his neck. When that elicits no response, she dives in to press hot, fast kisses to the pulse point in his throat, nuzzling her face into his neck with a needy whimper.

  
“Want something, darling?” He finally asks, his voice lazy and almost uninterested, even as he straightens up so he can scoop her into his lap. As always, he seems to have more hands than is humanly possible, grasping and squeezing whichever part of her he can reach. Want something? Yes, she damn well does.

  
“Your Eminence, I'm bored” Zelda pouts, putting on that sweet soft voice she usually drops as soon as they're alone together. Her husband takes the hint; his eyes darken but he makes a sympathetic noise, gently stroking her cheek. “I was so well-behaved this evening, don't you think? But it's so hard to be good when you men are talking about important things I don't understand and all I want is to sit in your lap and let you touch me.”

  
“My poor darling” he coos, one hand still gentle against her face as the other roughly hikes up her skirt and moves straight for her cunt, two fingers pushing into her so hard that she squeals. “Has my poor sweet girl been standing there so good and proper all evening with a dripping cunt? I should have known.”

  
He's far too good at this. Zelda nods eagerly, her thighs parting as wide as she can manage while keeping her balance and lets her eyes flutter shut. “It was torture, husband. I was dripping down my thighs for you and it was so difficult not to touch myself.” Granted, she's trying to get him worked up but that doesn't make it any less true. She's so wet that the deliciously obscene noise of Faustus fucking her with his fingers is practically deafening, a noise that only gets her wetter. It's a vicious cycle; the more turned on she is, the more Faustus can debase her, which they both know only gets her even more desperate for him.

  
“Why did you restrain yourself?” Faustus licks across her neck until he reaches the end of her collarbone and then sharp teeth plant themselves into her soft skin. Zelda sighs, thrusting greedily against his hand. “I'm sure nobody would have minded if you put that pretty little hand between your legs and made yourself squeal, precious. They all know that mindless little sluts like you can't control themselves.”

  
“But I didn't have your permission, husband." She hates that he can turn her into such a mess so quickly, hates that playing this role comes so easily. It's not Zelda's fault, she just wants to come so badly but she knows that when they play this game, he'll slap her hand away if she tries to touch her clit. Making her come is his job and who is she to deny him?

  
“Consider this an open invitation to touch yourself at each and every Council meeting in future, my darling" his voice is nothing more than a growl, his mouth hot and heavy against her neck. “Perhaps we'll pass you around with the port. You saw how they were looking at you, sweetheart, didn't you? Couldn't keep their eyes off those delicious tits.” As he speaks, the hand that was in her hair suddenly yanks at the top of her dress until her breasts spill out and Faustus grunts, pinching one of her nipples so hard that Zelda can see stars. “I should take you to the next meeting like this, I think. Pretty tits out and soaking little cunt on display. It suits you so well. And maybe if you spread your legs wide enough, one of them might take pity on you and fill you up.”

  
Suddenly and forcefully, Zelda is coming with a loud squeak that's more befitting to her be-dolled appearance than she'd ever intended, her hands fisting in the fabric of Faustus's shirt so hard that she hears fabric tear. Unashamedly panting, she rests her forehead against his and hisses when he pulls his fingers away until the sound is blocked as he shoves them in her mouth.

  
“That's right, sweetheart, show me how well you can suck it" his other hand is still toying with her breasts, tugging and twisting, and Zelda whines as she laps at his fingers, bobbing her head up and down eagerly. “How many of the Council's cocks do you think you could suck in a row, pretty girl? How much could you swallow?”

  
Her lipstick smeared, Zelda pulls back to answer, unable to resist one last swipe of her tongue over his fingertips. This is good, this is perfect, this is what she wanted, this is how she can show him what a good girl she can be. “As many as you want me to, your Excellency.”

  
“That's the right answer, darling.” Unzipping his trousers, Faustus strokes his cock slowly, his gaze roaming over her with darkened eyes. It's the same look that he'd given her earlier in the evening in front of the entire Council, only this time he doesn't pull his gaze away. She can physically feel the raw want in his eyes as he leers at her, feels her skin flushing with it.

  
“Do you have any idea how delicious you are, Zelda? They're all jealous of me, you know. Getting to fuck that needy cunt" he grins, that hungry smile that always sends her reeling, pulling her closer so he can rub his cock over her dripping wet folds. “And your nasty little mouth. And, of course, that perfect tight arse. How many of them do you think were imagining what that soaking pussy tastes like? How many of them were hard under their robes? No wonder nobody could get any work done; they were all thinking about coming all over your tits in that truly shameless dress.”

  
“Faustus...” she moans, rutting up against him desperately. Her entire body is buzzing with arousal, as though she hadn't come in weeks, as opposed to two minutes ago. She barely even has enough control of herself to play her part but she isn't stopping now; every time she raises the bet for them, he calls her bid without question and it will never stop driving her wild. Zelda is brimming so full with arousal that she's shaking, her thighs quivering as she rubs herself against her husband's body like a cat in heat.

  
“That's right, work for it, you filthy fucking whore. I make things far too easy for you, you know that?” He grabs a rough handful of her hair, pulling so hard that she keens, a high-pitched whining sound that makes him smile again. “You should be on your knees thanking the Dark Lord's mercy that I'm so lenient with you. Most men wouldn't put up with this greedy, sluttish selfishness.” The head of his cock is positioned right at her entrance, she's so close to being filled and Zelda thinks she's going to sob. Why had the fates bestowed such a bloody sadist on her?  
“Tell me how grateful you are, precious girl. You should be begging me for this cock, you spoiled little tart.”

  
“Faustus, please, please." She's writhing like a mad thing, rubbing her cheek against his hand as her hips buck, only just pulled together enough to maintain her sweet, soft voice for him. “I need it, I need you inside me, husband. You wouldn't make your favourite girl go without, would you? When she's been so good for you?”

  
He drags his thumb over her lower lip, the smirk on his own face as wide as she's ever seen it. Zelda sucks the digit greedily, unashamedly. She's hungry for anything she can get from him, her whole body buzzing with need. Why won't he just let her be good for him, she'll ride him so well if he just lets her have it, she deserves it...

  
“If you call spending a whole evening fantasizing about getting fucked by all the members of the High Council until you're dripping down your thighs being good, I'd love to see you being bad” Faustus drawls, yanking her head back hard and biting until she feels the skin break.

  
“Give me your cock and I'll show you how good I can be" she begs, fastening her teeth to his earlobe as he pulls back from her throat and tugging until her mouth falls open in a wild moan as he finally thrusts up inside her and she's coming hard, so hard, thrumming with pleasure from her head to the tips of her toes. Rocking mindlessly against him, Zelda can barely think but she can feel her husband's teeth against her neck again, worrying at the place where he'd pierced her earlier and noisily lapping at the hot red liquid spilling out of her, making her whimpers echo around the room.

It's times like this she wishes his study had a mirror; if her soul wasn't already the Dark Lord's property, Zelda would sell it to be able to see what the pair of them look like now. Her bouncing on top of him, her bare breasts rubbing against his chest over the spoiled silky fabric of her once-perfect dress; him greedily mauling her with vicious hands and teeth, unable to get his fill of her. Even the thought makes her moan again, spurs her to grab hard at Faustus's hair and keep him in place as she keeps thrusting against him. Slowly, her husband lifts his head to look her in the eyes, cruelty glittering in his gaze that makes Zelda feel genuinely faint and, a moment too late, she realises her mistake.

  
“I'd love to know why you think you have the slightest bit of control over what's going on here, Zelda" his voice is low and dangerous and he must have known that it was going to make her cunt spasm around him again. “Since when do naughty, dirty sluts get to dictate their husband's actions? Presumptuous whore. Every time I think I can trust you to behave, you do nothing but show me what a torrid harlot you really are and it's beginning to test my patience.” Faustus's hand closes around her throat and Zelda groans, unable to stop herself gyrating against him even as she's being scolded. Especially because she's being scolded. “I don't think you realise how lucky you are. I should be tossing you to the floor and forcing my cock down your throat, shouldn't I? Not that you even deserve that.”

  
He sounds almost bored, tired of her, the fingers around her throat idly caressing her soft skin. Zelda wriggles, easy to rise off him, sink to her knees and prove exactly what a good little wife she can be. Faustus just tuts, patronising and condescending, rough hands keeping her firmly in place. “I was sure I'd made it clear that you don't get to decide what's happening here. Did I not?”

  
“Yes, husband" she murmurs, her voice soft and obedient as she gives him a beseeching look of desperation. He must be close, she can feel how tense his muscles are under his shirt but Faustus isn't giving her an inch. His hand on her hip keeps her slowly moving against him, too slowly for either of them to get any real relief and the fingers around her throat slide up into her hair, stroking it in a deliberately casual manner she's long since learned to be suspicious of.

  
“I can't think why I even bothered marrying you" he drawls, petting her like she's his favourite doll. Which, she supposes, she is, and the thought makes her already-flaming cheeks redden even further. “You couldn't make it any more obvious that you're gagging for it, that you'd give it up for anyone who asked. I would have been better off keeping you as my pretty little pet and marrying a woman who had the slightest shred of self control. Which you don't, do you?”  
Not trusting herself to speak, Zelda merely shakes her head. She's panting in a thoroughly undignified manner, sweat beading on her brow as she tortuously writhes against him; Faustus has wrecked her and from the arrogant look on his face, he's thoroughly enjoyed doing it. Surely he knows that she's at breaking point, surely he's going to take pity on her and let her ride him into oblivion.

  
“Stand up, my sweet, sweet little slut.” Oh, Satan. She wants to scream, shout, beg if she has to but she knows fine well that it isn't going to get her anyway. Instead, she reluctantly draws herself off him, supporting herself on decidedly shaky legs. Faustus rises too and he can talk about self control all he wants but judging by the look on his face, he's about ten seconds away from eating her alive.

  
“Bend over my desk, Zelda, and quickly. Surely you know the drill by now.” Doesn't she just. Only too happy to comply, Zelda spreads herself out for him over the desk, bunching her skirt up and parting her thighs as provocatively as possible. With the best will in the world, Faustus can never keep this game up for long. A few hard blows with his hand, a few well-timed whimpers and he's physically unable to stop himself sheathing his cock inside her. She's never been more grateful that her husband is, above all else, a complete and utter selfish bastard.

  
“I'm going to show you what happens to wretched, desperate whores who think they can get away with murder because they have a pretty face and a nice pair of tits.” His voice is a gravelly rumble, so obviously thick with lust that it would have been enough to make Zelda's cunt slick if she weren't already wetter than she can remember ever being in her life. She waits as patiently as she can for the firm strike of his hand or his belt; she'd rather have the belt but that's not her decision to make. Good girls take what they're given and like it. 

  
There's a clatter and a satisfied hum, and then something cool and smooth is trailing up the inside of Zelda's thigh. It takes her a moment of sensory overstimulation before she realises what the slightly strange sensation is and when she does, her breathing hitches; Faustus is rubbing his cane over her bare skin, sending a thrill down her spine and apparently getting a huge kick out of doing so. Practically panting, Zelda waits for the stinging impact on her bare ass but it doesn't come. What does come is the smooth, rounded wooden tip dragging through her dripping folds, just barely grazing her clit, and Zelda's mind almost shorts out with white hot pleasure. She can't even form words properly, all that spills out of her mouth is an unintelligible moan when Faustus adjusts his angle so the hard wood starts rubbing against her clit so deliciously that she's driven to desperation.

  
“Faustus, please. I swear to Satan, _please_.” Her husband's low, malicious chuckle reverberates through the room and she can feel the heat pouring off him as his unoccupied hand comes to rest on her back.

  
“This is what perfect and proper Zelda Spellman has come to, hmm? So debased and debauched that she doesn't even care what I fuck her with as long as her greedy cunt gets filled?” He phrases it as a question but there's no question about it; as he finishes speaking, Faustus pushes it into her and Zelda gasps, loud and ragged. She'd rather have his cock, that's certain, but it's good, it's wonderful, she wants so much more. Bracing herself on one forearm as she brings the other hand to furiously circle her clit, Zelda pushes backwards, mewling and moaning as she gets fuller and fuller.

  
“You should see yourself. Needy little whore. You'd take anything I give you, wouldn't you, darling?” It's difficult for anything to permeate through the haze of lust that her brain has become but Zelda does notice how absolutely wrecked her husband sounds. She doesn't have the capacity to reply, not when she's teetering on the knife-edge of ecstasy, not when the Unholy Leader of the Churches of Darkness has her spread out like a whore for him while he fucks her with his cane. She remembers how he'd banged it on the hard stone floor barely an hour ago, how the noise had made all the members of the High Council sit up a little straighter, all hanging on her husband's every word- and that's it, she's gone, shuddering and sighing and very nearly sobbing as she clenches around the strange object, just another extension of her husband's power.

  
“Oh, that's it, good girl, my good girl. That's right, my darling, so good for me." The affirmation is everything she'd wanted to hear all evening but Zelda can only whine in response, cunt still spasming and heart still racing. When he pulls the cane away and lets it clatter to the floor, she's still trembling but just about manages to prop herself up and turn around to face him. Faustus is stroking his cock with one large hand, his eyes practically black as they rake over her dishevelled form. Wordlessly, with no prompting, Zelda sinks straight to her knees. She licks hungrily at his leaking head before dropping her head forward to swallow him all in, her eyes heavy and chest heaving. It barely takes three vigorous movements of her head before Faustus grabs a wild handful of her hair and holds her in place while he comes down her throat, groaning her name like it's some twisted kind of prayer.

  
They're both silent for a moment, no noise in the room except laboured, heavy breathing. Then:

  
“Alright, darling?” The bare minimum of consideration, perhaps, but more than she's come to expect from him, as is the gentleness of the hand stroking her hair. Zelda merely nods. Alright is an understatement. She's sore and sweaty and beyond exhausted, arms and legs trembling to an almost alarming degree and she's pretty certain that if she stands, she'll collapse but she can't remember feeling this good in weeks, months even. With as much imperiousness as she can muster, she holds her hand out for him to help her up, which he does with a chuckle. For the first time that evening, Faustus kisses her, slow and deep and lingering.

  
When they pull apart, he cups her cheek, regarding her with something that a more foolish woman could mistake for real affection. “You're a marvel, Zelda, you know that?”

  
“I do, as it happens.” Rolling her eyes, Zelda steps back to adjust her tattered, crumpled clothing as best as she can. Slipping back into her real voice, her real mannerisms, always feels a little peculiar but now more than ever. Perhaps it's because she's broken a boundary, blurred the lines that she'd been so determined to keep rigid and clear. With a deep breath, she shakes her head, shakes it off. “That reminds me, there was something that Father Jackson mentioned earlier about inheritance law that didn't quite ring true to me...”

  
And with that, things seem to click back into place. Their usual evening routine is set into motion; leaving the study a debauched mess they move back across to their bedchamber, changing into their nightclothes, pouring a generous nightcap and winding up loosely entwined in each other's arms, the conversation about the possible weakness of an ancient priest never ceasing its flow. This, Zelda thinks hazily before she drifts off into sleep, this is precisely what she'd pictured when she accepted his proposal. This. And if the price she pays for dictating the future of the Church is a tube of pink lipstick, that seems like a deal worth selling one's soul for.


End file.
